


I'll consume every part of you to indulge my love lust

by TotemundTabu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet, Blow Jobs, Canon LGBTQ Character, Drunk Sex, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Revenge Sex, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 08:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15020747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: “You hate him, I love him… - he hummed – I hate her, you love her...” Robert Baratheon let out a thin smirk, looking at him, then he looked at Jon’s black shirt. Maybe he understood. For once. “We have more in common than I thought.”   ----- Rhaegar's second wedding feels like a slap to Jon, still hopelessly in love with him, but the last thing he expects is the bride's ex to come drink at the bar with him.





	I'll consume every part of you to indulge my love lust

**Author's Note:**

> This is the crackship of the century but who am I to stop myself, honestly.   
> Still for the ASOIAF PRIDE FEST!! Thank you to my wife for betaing this thing and Janie for having to bear with my insecurities about it. I even ended up making a fanmix for this ship but that I'll probably keep to myself and spare you all!  
> I wanted JonC to have one happy time in his life ok xd

**I'll consume every part of you to indulge my love lust**

 

* * *

 

 

It was his third gin and tonic.

He sighed and stared at the blue bottle the bartender had behind his back.

“Give me another one, will you?”

The boy gave him a weak laugh, “Should you really? You seem pretty tipsy already, man.”

Jon Connington raised an eyebrow, annoyed.

The last thing he needed was to hear someone patronize him.

“Look, kiddo, I know you have to do your job but you know the wedding in the sapphire room?”

The bartender nodded, he had prepared the entrée drinks for that; massive event, and they all wanted blue themed stuff, so he had ended up using an absurd amount of Blue Curaçao and crème de violette. 

“Well. - Jon proceeded – I’ve been in love with the groom for…. Since I was thirteen. Thir, fucking, teen.”

The bartender’s eyes widened, “Ouch. Buddy, that’s… whoa.”

“And this is his _second_ wedding. And the _second time_ he gets me as his best man.”

“… Christ.”

“So, if you don’t mind, I’ll have another gin and tonic and try to forget how pathetic this situation is.”

“And you’ll give me the biggest beer you have.”

Jon turned and saw him. He found himself rolling his eyes so far back into his skull he was sure he could have seen his own brain.

Robert Baratheon, though, didn’t seem in the mood for a quarrel.

“Connington. - he said, voice low, stirred with anger but not towards him, and a bitter chuckle that echoed shallow and empty – What they say about misery loving company must be true.”

“And hell is others, Baratheon. Any other banality to reach the daily quota?”

“Whoa, someone is snappy when friend-zoned. - Robert commented with a low laugh that sounded almost choked, sitting and grabbing his beer – I’ll offer your next one. You went through this twice.”

“What do you know about this stuff.”

“Rhaegar may have blinkers on, but I don’t. - he mumbled, and then Jon raised his eyes on him and observed him, maybe for the first time in a long time – I suppose if he had loved Elia his whole life, you could have least think it was true love and who were you to put yourself in the middle of that.”

Jon frowned.

His voice trembled, his lips twitched.

“Is this what you’re telling yourself?”, he asked, coming off as more confrontational than he meant to be.

Robert shook his head, looking away, and laughed bitterly.

“It’s what Lyanna told me.”

“Fuck. - Jon snorted – What a bitch.”

Robert turned, almost growling at him, he stood up. Eyes inflamed.

“How fucking dare you.”

“Hey hey hey! - the bartender moved, startled – No fighting in the hotel!”

Jon bit his bottom lip.

“Look, I’m sorry, it’s just… Rhaegar at least doesn’t know. She does and she told you that, I mean, what the fuck.”

“She’s honest. - Robert said, and as the words slipped out of his lips his strong jaw seemed to get weaker, and the flame in his eyes turned languid, and he swallowed and gulped dry, while his eyes turned liquid – At least she is.”

Jon let out a sour whimper.

“The policy of truth leads you nowhere.”

“Lying makes no sense. - Robert sat again, holding his glass and chugging down the beer, foam staining his stubble, before a big breath and sigh – You can run, but you can’t hide from this shite.”

Jon frowned, his eyebrow twitched slightly, as he looked at the man.

He knew too well what people thought or said with those times: you’ll find someone else, it’s not forever, it will pass, you’ll meet someone you like more, heartbreak is hard but the sea is full of fish. 

All that stuff didn’t help, it never did.

He licked his lips.

“Not all of us get the privilege of being sincere.”

“It’s not a privilege. - Robert mumbled, sipping again – It’s not given, you take it.”

Jon scoffed.

“Well, you couldn’t have said anything more heterosexual ever.”

“Boobs? - Robert tired, then laughed, this time whole-heartedly and shook his head – What I mean is, if you wanted to, you could have said it to Rhaegar. You decided to shut up not to lose him, but… you lose him anyway. You hold a crumble, man, and suffer much more by shutting up.”

“If I told him, it wouldn’t have made him less straight.”

Robert shrugged, “Maybe he would have been nicer about the wedding, maybe he wouldn’t have given you sex details, maybe he would have looked at you instead of through you … - he pointed the glass at the barman who filled it again – You may find me irritating, but I’m not as stupid as you’d like to think.”

Jon bit his bottom lip and stared.

He found his voice shivering.

“… you hate him, that’s the whole reason I…”

“I don’t hate him, I hate how y’all see him.”

“Jealousy. Envy. - Jon snorted – That’s a horrible character flaw to have.”

And Jon realized he was speaking about both of them.

It was their mark, their brand, their capital sin.

They signed up for that.

The greed to be someone else had fermented and stirred through their veins, staining their whole lives green.

Jon played with his glass, letting the smooth liquid wobble, oscillate palpitating in a shuddered roil, before almost reaching the rim of the glass like a thawed whip.

He stared at the glass labouring to roll, square melting off its corners.

Losing its rigidity.

His eyes glanced at Robert again, and Robert lost his at the heavy bottom of his beer.

“You’ll act like he’s some kind of fucking genius, he’s a damn prima donna. - he sniffled, trying almost to ignore the pang of pain stabbing tears off his eyes – Swans look all graceful on water, see them on earth, they are clumsy geese biting your fingers off.”

What a hollowed out heart.

Jon let out a chuckle anyway.

“Do you have a political agenda against swans.”

Robert almost pouted.

“I’m just saying. It’s a metaphor, Connington.”

“So you’d be what? - Jon asked, almost unable to contain a smirk – A heron? - a snort – If I were a tad bit gayer I’d book the flamingo role.”

Robert let out a thunderous laugh.

“To be fair, I never got how Rhaegar didn’t understand that much, he really is just a huge blockhead.”

Jon darted a dagger of a glance at Robert.

“Oh, I bet you think you can spot every gay person on the planet.”

Robert scoffed and raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Connington. I’ve just picked up a bit of the radar from my brother.”

Jon let out a horrified face.

“Stannis? Really?”

“Renly.”

“Oh. - Jon blinked – Oh, yeah, makes sense.”

Robert laughed, raising his glass. “You see, I’m not all that bad.”

“Well, you’re wrong in thinking Rhaegar is a poor match for your Lyanna.”

“And you’re wrong in thinking no woman will ever be worthy of your Rhaegar. - Robert shrugged, then showing a smug look that lit tongues of fire in Jon’s stomach – But here we are … two bitter leftovers.”

Jon’s eyes skimmed Robert’s jaw and neck.

“If you could stop loving her, would you?”

Robert contemplated the gold of the beer.

“I don’t think so.”

Jon’s glance brushed Robert’s lips.

He was handsome. In an annoying way.

He had loved so long Rhaegar’s delicate traits, his soft jaw, his fair colours, his gracefulness… Robert looked more like a bear than a human being: dark, hairy and huge.

He had a chiselled jawline and shoulders for a mile.

Not his type at all.

Maybe that was what intrigued him, somewhat.

His type, after all, right then meant only heartache.

He agitated softly the gin and tonic glass in his hands, and then felt Robert Baratheon’s eyes on his hands, riding back, slowly, following his arm, then his shoulder, then finding his neck and lips.

Robert Baratheon was straight, though, wasn’t he?

Jon sucked his lips.

A wicked light cut through his stomach, it burned through his nerves, it set him alight.

Games, emptiness, hellish hunger.

As he prepared to pay, he felt his scarred heart smoulder through his flesh.

Jon looked at him again, he craved being silenced, being pushed beyond thought – fuck away all the pain or having it fucked out of himself. For once in his life he didn’t care.

“You hate him, I love him… - he hummed – I hate her, you love her...”

Robert Baratheon let out a thin smirk, looking at him, then he looked at Jon’s black shirt.

Maybe he understood.

For once.

“We have more in common than I thought.”

“Like two mirrors.”

The neon lights of the hotel bar fitted Robert Baratheon’s blue eyes so well, for an instant, they shone purple.

Jon’s fingers played with the hotel room key and he absent-mindedly placed it on the bar counter.

“Unless you have to go to miss Lannister …”

Robert Baratheon’s lips twitched up.

He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe himself.

“Always preferred redheads to blondes.”

 

*

 

Open-mouthed, panted kisses.

Jon’s lips trembled open, Robert pushed through them again, harder, his big tongue pushing through, slamming Connington against the door of the room. Jon felt his knees buckle, his belt jump, the tent in his pants hardening.

He smiled into the kiss, tipsy, elated.

He pushed back, against Robert – angry, hungry. He closed his eyes and gave in, melting against him.

Threads of saliva stained the corners of their mouths, as heat burned low through them, sloppy, salty kisses turning into their clothes parting from their shoulders.

Jon’s fingers entwined behind Robert’s thick, strong neck, as he pushed him under, onto him, like rain.

He could smell him.

A Tom Ford, he could tell by the scent of sandalwood melting in the one of leather.

He smirked before dragging his teeth along Robert’s neck and sinking them into him.

Robert groaned, not displeased, intrigued instead, bit his bottom lip and slammed the room door open.

“You are quite the bossy brat.”, Robert scoffed, rubbing his palm on the neck, burning and stinging with a pinch of blood.

Jon shrugged his shoulders, smug.

“If I misbehave, put me in my place.”

Robert’s eyes were a blue flame, set ablaze, scorching Jon’s pale, freckled skin.

Jon smirked and bit Robert’s lips, chapping them, drawing blood.

Robert slapped him, pulled his red hair back, like the reins of a horse, pulling him like a possession.

“God… - he whispered, smitten – He is such a blockhead.”

Jon’s eyes shone in pain and his upper lip twitched.

Robert’s lips brushed on his, soft as silk, in the tenderest kiss, before he felt Robert’s big hand pressing on his neck, cutting off the air.

He was sure Robert was tasting his choked moans in the kiss.

Pain was the best aftertaste.

His hands ran to Robert’s pants, undoing the belt, making him walk into the room with him, throwing his pants down.

Haste rode his spine.

That damn fucking cocky face, that damn stupid beautiful face… if he had just kept Ned’s stupid sister close, kept her wet enough to not think about Rhaegar… but no, he had to ruin everything.

He wanted to tear that face, all of him apart.

Or be torn apart.

Limb by limb.

It mattered none by then.

Robert smiled and left Jon’s neck, letting him breathe freely again, taking a jolted, wicked joy in seeing him smirk again. Jon’s eyes had a languid, lustful gleam.

“So… - Jon raised an eyebrow – Bed?”

“Classic is always best.”

Jon almost laughed.

Then a weird doubt sank in. He usually...well, with Rhaegar he always had wanted to take, to possess.

He didn't exactly know how to leave command to someone else.

And yet he doubted Robert Baratheon would offer his anal virginity to him.

It should have been a sign to stop.

But he had lost all the ability to.

Robert’s hands were undressing both of them, shirts fell on the floor, where the ties were already empty, sleeping serpents of fabric. Jon flinched seeing Robert’s tanned skin, his broad, hairy chest and the wife-beater basically clinging to his stomach.

Jon swallowed dry.

Robert let himself fall on the bed, keeping himself lifted on his elbows – staring at Jon, half-enchanted and half-bewitched.

Jon felt his cock strain in his pants, begging to be freed, as he stared at Robert’s own bulge.

“Come. - Robert murmured, and Jon found himself following his voice, unable to unchain himself from the nail that low voice drew through him – Sit.”

Jon placed himself on Robert’s legs, widening his own, resting his bulge against the other one’s, feeling their aching erections beg for attention.

He lowered his eyes.

Not Rhaegar. And yet he found himself aroused and hard all the same.

He bent forward, kissing Robert’s neck and collarbones, his hands gently teasing the nipples through the under-shirt. Robert placed his hands tight on Jon’s ass, squeezing it, fondling, before inserting one hand under the fabric, touching the soft skin directly.

Jon gasped, threw his head back, unable to hold back a moan.

Robert grinned victorious and kissed Jon’s exposed neck, sucking it.

Jon trembled against Robert’s lips, finding his hips and groin whining, his body asking desperately to be used.

Robert’s eyes nailed Jon’s.

They were so blue.

They didn’t look violet anymore. It didn’t matter.

“Do you have hm…”

Jon snorted and pointed at the bedside night stand. Robert kissed the red beard before bending slightly, one hand still firm over Jon’s ass – he was unsure whether it was to claim possessiveness or to keep him safely up despite movement – and Robert grabbed the lube and condoms.

“So you were not planning on going through this night celibate.”, he observed.

“I did, but didn’t want to admit it.”, Jon shrugged.

Robert’s eyes darted on him again.

“He’s an idiot.”

Jon winced, smiled, welcomed Robert’s lips sucking his nipples, nibbling them. He kissed his black curls, moaning against them.

“She’s a bitch.”

Robert slapped his ass and then fondled it more.

Jon’s hands unbuttoned his jeans, nervously, quickly. Robert smirked, licked, flicked the nipple against his tongue, bit it, tormented and teased the dark tip.

Between the pants, Jon glanced down again, at the dark forest of curls.

How soft that pitch dark sea was.

How different from the silky light he had tried to hold in his hands for years, just to see it escaping him, water between his fingers, ghost of a river, hope wasted away.

Robert undid his pants too, freeing himself from the constriction and having his cock jump up, needing attention.

Jon put his hand around it, almost hesitant.

It’s not like he didn’t have people. After all, he knew the thing with Rhaegar was hopeless.

But it had been a while and it was the first time the person he was with knew he was thinking about someone else.

The first honest time.

He poured lube over both of their cocks, the mildly cold gel was more a relief than a bother, given the heat running through their nerves already, setting them alight. Jon’s hand held them together, barely managing to, the girth forcing his hand in a large hook.

Robert nuzzled against Jon’s chest, breathing the scent of his ginger hairs, his lips circling the nipple again, kissing it, his hand tormenting the other. Jon bent his head back, breathing in the shivering air.

Robert’s rough fingertips teased his chest, pulled the nipple, his lips riding down his stomach, dragging soft kisses.

Jon closed his eyes, remembering.

Rhaegar laughed, smiling, pouring more white wine. An ecstatic smile. “I’m so happy you accepted to be my best man again” . He had hated him so.

_There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts._

He welcomed the sensation of Robert’s kisses, biting through his neck, craving and carving the purple out of him.

For a moment alone he belonged to nothing more than himself.

He locked his lips again with Robert, starting to move his hand around their cocks, pressing them together, jerking both of them to full hardness. Robert chocked a groan, closing his eyes, parting his lips.

“Is this the first time a man does this to you?”, Jon chuckled, almost tense, yet bewitched.

His hand kept moving, fast, steady, bottom to top of the shaft, circling their aching cocks, pulling back the tender foreskin. Robert almost mewled, big as he was, when he felt Jon’s fingertips lingering a second longer on his needy head.

Robert’s throat unsheathed a low moan, and he bucked his hips into the movement.

Jon’s hand found its perfect rhythm and pressure, squeezing gently, torturing the throbbing member with his warmth.

Robert bit his bottom lip, staring, and his cock dripping precome.

Jon glanced at the reddened, needy member and whispered, almost breathless, “Lay down.”

Robert nodded, taking off his pants and quickly laying on the bed, as obedient as Jon never imagined him being.

Then Jon positioned himself over him on all fours, mouth close to Robert’s mast-hard cock and his own dick begging near Robert’s face.

Robert stared at it, breathing hard, caught back.

“You don’t have to use your mouth. - he warned, amused and nervous – But you should reciprocate.”

Robert nodded, his hand brushing the aching prick, jerking the shaft slowly, roughly. Jon arched his back, suffocating a moan in his throat, before passing his tongue on Robert’s throbbing cock-head.

Droplets of sweat ran down their skin, so heated, smouldering, it felt about to boil. Robert panted, bit his lips, choked on his own pride, while Jon’s tongue teased the crown of his foreskin, the luscious wet tip, the strained veins, running down the shaft. Sweat dripped sweet down the radiating flesh, precome dripped slow and salty; Jon opened his mouth, taking the tip in, sucking him.

He could feel Robert shiver.

His hips quivering and thrusting, desperately holding back from fucking Jon’s mouth.

Jon let his jaw drop, welcoming the thick girth, feeling its weight resting heavy on his tongue.

The taste of Robert’s erection drove electric through his nerves, rode his tongue, melted in his throat. He found himself letting out frustrated little whines, muffled by the girth of the cock in his mouth, feeling his own being vaguely neglected.

Robert was jerking him off, but handjobs had never been his favourite thing ever. They felt teenager-y and half-assed.

But he couldn’t ask a straight man to suck him off, could he?

So he closed his eyes, trying to focus on how big Robert felt, how loudly he was moaning, how tense his balls were, tight and about to give in. Robert’s thrusts had started to get rough, Jon could feel himself struggling to breathe as Robert would shag his mouth, desperate to put his whole shaft into him.

And yet it felt good.

He was so needy. So powerless under his tongue.

Jon let his teeth caress the shaft’s base, almost as a warning, and he swung his hips in front of a very slow Baratheon, handling his cock like he had to milk it.

Jon arched his back, sliding Robert’s cock almost out, except the heavy, oozing tip, drooling precome over his panting tongue, before swallowing the length again. Robert groaned, then went silent for a moment.

He couldn’t put a cock in his mouth. That was… too much.

But Jon’s ass was there, in front of him, beautiful.

He slapped the firm, hard ass, seeing it jiggle and feeling Jon moan obscenely against his cock, muffling him.

Robert stared at the hole twitching, winking, small and clean, freckles peppered on the pale skin like kisses.

Robert hesitated for a second, then moved his head. Jon screamed, almost gagging on his cock, as he felt Robert’s tongue circling the rim of muscles.

He tried to glance back but couldn’t, Robert’s cock throbbing heavy on his tongue, claiming all his attention.

Robert lapped, rimmed, sucked the puckering hole’s borders, its soft lines, wet the entrance, before slipping inside, determined. His hands grabbed Jon’s butt cheeks as he pressed himself in.

Jon’s eyes widened, he sucked harder, almost trying to drink his moans away.

Robert’s tongue exited, ran the line of his perineum, teased his tense balls – Jon rocked his hips back onto it, finding himself getting sloppier, hungrier. Robert returned to invading his ass, pushing his tongue inside, moving it slow and steady, cradling the balls with one hand while groping Jon’s cheek with the other, his face pressed so hard that Jon flinched at the feeing of his stubble scratching his sensitive skin.

Jon emerged from Robert’s erection, strings of precome pending from his wet, reddened, swollen lips.

His voice trembled, as liquid as his desperate eyes.

“Baratheon, what on fucking...”

Robert pushed further; Jon was sure he had never felt a tongue so uselessly big and long in his life and, oh, if he thanked the gods for what was happening. He felt on the brink of fainting, fire melting inside him.

Jon threw his head back, heart pounding wild.

He knew he should have returned to sucking Robert, but he found himself moving his hips back against him, fucking himself on that tongue, finding a brutal pace, a tormenting rhythm softening the edges of his resistance. Inhibitions went away, forgotten with pride.

With his nerves ignited, Jon closed his eyes, letting out almost a cry, standing more and more straight, sitting on Robert’s face, his ass spread wide for his tongue to claim.

He moaned, hard and high-pitched, and revoltingly twisted.

He could feel himself leaking, a pained erection begging to be touched, to be driven over the edge. And then in the abyss.

The worst was feeling Robert half-chuckling, tongue deep in his ass, stubble teasing – taunting his balls.

Robert parted, pasting a big, loud kiss on Jon’s shivering, writhing cheek.

“Tastes like a girl’s ass. - he claimed, all proud, as if he had discovered something huge – And you’re just as cute.”

“ _Cut it_. - Jon panted, inbetween a moan and a groan, a quick glance to Robert – Do you want to…?”

“Put it in? - Robert suggested, almost in a snort, spanking Jon’s ass – That’s kinda the idea.”

Jon forced himself not to comment. Despite the will to strangle him.

God, wasn’t he so annoying?

Jon swallowed down, glancing at Robert’s throbbing cock – he was probably not going to last much longer, maybe it could be done. Jon sucked his lips, licked them and glanced at the condoms.

“Have you ever… done it?”

“With girls? - Robert shrugged – All the time.”

There was something depressing in the fact that his probably most experienced sexual partner was going to be a straight man.

… well, hadn’t he wanted to fuck one for decades now?

He rolled his eyes and handed him the lube while moving to find a better position.

“Reverse cowgirl?”, Robert asked, blinking, staring at him, still mildly enchanted by his firm, soft ass.

Jon looked back, almost done. Who the fuck still used position names?

“Do you prefer reverse cowboy? Is it, like, less offensive?”

“You’re an idiot. - he solemnly mocked – You’re lucky you’re hung.”

Robert laughed and pulled Jon close by his waist, abruptly. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Cocky.”, Jon mumbled, with a smirk coming to his lips, closing his eyes and softening in a slow, sloppy kiss.

Robert kissed his neck softly, his silky, pillow-y lips contrasting the scratch of his stubble, his hands caressed and pressed on Jon’s hips – they were gentle and they were bruising; and he moved the first lubed finger in, gradual and lascivious. A lewd moan escaped Jon’s lips.

Lecherous fever twisted in their veins, running through them, blooming in heat rising from the skin’s surface.

Robert kissed Jon’s neck sucked, while inserting the second finger.

Jon closed his eyes.

Rhaegar was not there.

Rhaegar was nowhere to be felt.

He adjusted, slowly, allowing Robert’s fingers to enter deeper and bend, searching for his prostate. That was more than what he’d expect from a straight man.

“Relax. – Robert whispered, with a low, dark laugh that felt like liqueur on his heart – God, you’re _so_ soft inside.”

Jon’s breath faltered.

Robert’s lips brushed his neck, the fingers of his free hand teased his nipple before snapping over it, making Jon jolt, hips bucking in the empty air.

“And hot too.”

“You speak too much.”, Jon warned him, eyes still closed, his lips twitching, his hips writhing.

“You don’t seem to mind. - Robert mumbled, brushing over his prostate, scissoring his fingers gently through the flesh – You don’t seem to mind at all.”

Jon felt Robert’s prick pressing and piercing, strong and heavy against his coccyx.

It craved, it claimed. There was something wrong about it all, but he had stopped caring.

Fuck Lyanna Stark for having snobbed a man who’d have loved her forever.

Fuck Rhaegar for picking another girl he’ll stop loving in three years.

Fuck Robert Baratheon for the warmth of his hands and the girth of his cock.

And fuck him too, for his cock leaking and his ass begging, and the weird fever he let take over.

Fuck him too for still trying to think.

Robert’s fingers skimmed over his sweet spot, making his flesh melt, greediness turning into oxygen. He burned low in the candlelight of his own need to be consumed.

He felt the tip of the third finger on the edge.

“Just put it in.”, he groaned.

Robert frowned, “Isn’t it better if I...”

“Just move.”

Robert nodded, pouring an absurd amount of lube on his cock – god, he didn’t seem like the prudent type – and lining himself up with Jon, who was trembling, butt right over the cock-head, hips trembling.

It didn’t have to mean anything.

Love, sex, they didn’t mean a thing.

Marriage either.

He moved slowly, meeting with Robert, who was pushing up, sinking his rod through him, impaling him inch after inch.

It strained, it stretched, it took. Claiming, thick.

Jon felt almost torn, the uncomfortable sensation of being stretched, of feeling his walls – his limits – accommodating, welcoming someone –  _someone else…_ it was on the verge of intensity, the razor pending almost on pain.

Until it didn’t.

And the pleasant fullness took over, his body adapting, feeling Robert, feeling filled, feeling wanted.

After so many years of nothingness.

Robert held him, caressing his chest, rubbing gently his dark freckled nipples, then lowering on his stomach and abdomen, fingertips gentle on the red, happy trail, leading him in a lecherous, drowsy  _pas de deux_ .

Jon stared down at his own cock, throbbing, needy, at his red head, letting out, giving in, about to come.

There was a part of him that felt so full he was almost surprised by not seeing a bulge in his stomach. It was intense, sluggish and yet turbid. It felt like the most delicate of poisons taking over his head.

He rested his head back on Robert’s shoulder, breath faltering, eyes closed, lips trembling.

He felt Robert’s chest shake in what sounded like the most heartfelt, deep chuckle.

“You finally stopped complaining.”

Jon raised his eyebrows, keeping his eyes closed, “You have some solid arguments.”

Robert let out a choked chortle, before thrusting his hips harder, pushing more inside Jon, rougher and darker.

Robert’s hands were sliding on Jon’s body, the one from the hip travelling now to the happy trail, teasing the navel, playing with its rim, the other had descended on Jon’s erection, grabbing the shaft and jerking it unwaveringly and firmly.

Jon sucked his lips, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

He could feel his balls tightening, his cock pleading for relief, his world igniting and incinerating in a thawing warmth.

His body was completely open, stretched and hot. It didn’t even feel like an alien object anymore, like a separate person, no.

It was heat. Pure, ridiculously perfect heat, fucking him wide and alive.

Taking him.

Not leaving him behind like an invisible leftover.

Robert’s hands bruised him, dragging purple out on his skin – purple like his eyes, his stupid Liz Taylor eyes, empty, murano glass, bottomless wells – and milking milky splattered precome out of his aching cock.

Robert himself was straining, biting his bottom lip, forcing himself to be slow.

It was almost impossible.

Jon was tight, scorching, smouldering and perfect. His ass was a soft sleeve, clenching around his cock, squeezing it beautifully, splendidly.

And it felt so good to push into him, inch after inch, see his cock disappear between those jumpy butt-cheeks into the strangling, tight tunnel … it felt beyond good. It was godly.

Perfect, even.

And Jon would clench and moan, with something – a dignified wantonness, a lewd sacredness – that Robert had never experienced before.

The way Jon’s spine moved, the way he arched his whole body like a sail slapped by the wind, following his movements, and still trying to lead at times, his squirming hips gaining control enough to fuck themselves on his cock, using him almost… it was a migraine, a heavenly migraine.

He felt his cock almost melt in the absurd warmth of that cavern.

He jerked Jon faster, feeling his cock shiver and jolt, jumping, giving in.

Any words had turned into a shapeless mass of moans.

Jon’s voice twisted, high-pitched, it rose up from the earth and reach the ceiling, needy and echoing sad and wet at the idea of being empty soon.

Robert sank his teeth in Jon’s neck, sucking blood from it, lapping it, almost like a wolf, almost like a real lover, rolling his hips mercilessly slow and aiming cruelly well at Jon’s prostate.

Robert was still holding Jon’s cock, heavy to the point of bursting, almost squirting out, his hand rubbing the cock-head wickedly fast.

Jon screamed, coming first, clenching his ass so tight around his cock that Robert for a moment feared he’d come immediately.

He bit his lip, promising himself to resist longer and, between breathless pants and shallow gulps, soon Jon relaxed enough again.

Robert kissed the neck, his jaw retiring from the flesh. And he almost chuckled, seeing the come splattered on his hand and in front of Jon.

Elation lifted him. It was a victory.

Jon’s chapped, dry lips trembled.

He had trouble focusing, he just let out a flayed, grazed whisper, “...fuck.”

Robert kissed his earlobe, nibbled it.

“I still need to come. - he pointed out, rolling his hips, hitting Jon’s sweetest spot once, twice, thrice, until Jon’s cock jumped again half-mast, standing at attention – So eager...”

“Don’t over...do.”, Jon almost warned him, not very believable with his flushed, pink cheeks.

“But, baby, overdoing is kind of my thing.”, Robert proclaimed, with a grin.

And then he almost pulled out completely just to thrust back in, full, every damn inch of his shaft, at once, in a slammed bang.

Jon’s jaw dropped, his mouth left agape.

Robert’s gaze fell on his shivering chest, the heart beating almost loud enough to hear.

Another thrust hit Jon again, electric, ferocious – a hit making his insides scream in a shameful delight.

His own dick was already feeling it and he couldn’t hide it.

Robert’s hands felt almost outrageously soft, caressing his body as unchained light – Jon felt words escape his mouth, but he could not speak, not think.

He was being preyed on.

And he did have that ridiculous sensation that he was going to be eaten up in one gulp.

Robert worked on a rhythm, keeping his hips chained to Jon’s, slipping out just until the tip to then slam back again, sheathing himself fully. Jon could feel himself loosening up, his body wanted Robert, his fullness, the strain, the slight pain becoming leaping bliss.

Jon moved backwards, searching for more contact, craving the sensation of being split – somewhat broken and yet whole, wholer than he had been in years of being a shattered surface kept together by silence and immobility – and, in a jerk, turned his neck and pressed himself on Robert's lips, forceful, his tongue, taking all the space it needed; Robert crossed his hands on Jon's waist, getting closer, knotting them together and binding with a chain of skin.

Jon’s body jolted, arched.

Electricity ran down his spine as Robert pushed in again, further and rougher now. Jon could feel his ass stretching more around the girth, the hips moving faster, merciless and restless. And the hits on his sweet spot, turning his voice higher each turn.

Jon hated how he loved it.

He half-screamed, unable to recognize his own voice as it turned to thick bliss, cream and thorns riding his throat while pleasure itched and twisted in his oversensitive nerves.

Robert gripped on Jon’s hips harder, nails and fingertips sinking through them, driving out thin blood moons from the freckled snow.

Jon squirmed and melted. Lust turned the world white-hot and blinding. His hips searched for Robert, moving against him too, thrusting himself onto him, reaching him.

His muscles flinched weak, his knees turned to jelly.

Bliss seized him open. Robert banged, slamming so hard only his hands stopped Jon from scooting off. And Jon’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, he could feel Robert’s thick, big, heavy head pressing as deep in his ass as possible, on the perfect verge of tearing.

It felt dirty and beautiful.

There was no tenderness, just hunger. And leftover anger from the blindness of others, and then, from that… came a lust that left them speechless and, painted in shivers, abandoned them in annihilating bliss.

They banished each other from the gardens of holy solitude with voracious thrusts and lip-bruising kisses.

Robert found himself absurdly aroused, staring so deeply at the sight of the silently begging mess Jon had unravelled into: his moans melted to unchained and unstoppable, he was rocking his hips wildly to meet Robert's thrust, fucking himself.

Or the pain away.

Or tasting, finally, what it means to be fed when starving.

Robert grunted, his arm tighter around Jon’s waist and raising him slightly, pounding harder, making sure the angle would allow Jon’s prostate to feel every damn hit and the subtle burn of insisting pleasure.

He growled, pressing against Jon's ear; his breath almost animalistic, irregular, ferocious. Jon rolled up, ecstasy washing through him, lips parted, trembling, quivering, and he could only see the blurred white of the ceiling.

White. Not silver.

Jon suffocated a whimper, and saw blank, spilling, coming with a low whine, almost mewled.

Exhausted, ecstatic.

Robert sank his teeth into his shoulders, making Jon scream, pushing more roughly into his oversensitive ass, hit mercilessly inside the raw flesh, parting, panting, claiming. Jon melted around Robert’s cock, writhing, twitching, overloaded with a foreign pleasure.

His heart felt red and needy too.

Jon splattered again, once more, aching and in awe, while Robert moved, almost bull-like, inside him, plunging and pounding.

He dragged that orgasm long and raw, the insides begging mercy and more in the same overwhelmed instant.

Robert seemed almost delirious.

He called for him – not Lyanna, not once, just him – once and twice and thrice and again, once each thrust, with his dick throbbing, thicker and so close to the edge. Jon’s name just rolled out from his lips, like water from a spring, naturally as it shouldn’t have. His lips were drenched in pleasure, as he moaned low and panted. 

Jon kissed his jawline, humming, moving too against him.

He kissed the sideburns and the earlobe. He did so well, and seemed so tense, veins on his forehead, sweet, salty droplets of sweat rolling down his red skin.

Jon smiled, murmuring, “You feel so good.”

Robert could feel Jon tightening around his shaft, as words escaped them both, as Jon clenched down on Robert's cock, holding him in.

His head went dizzy with desire, his muscles hard with the need to come.

Low, dirty, perfect moans broke their resistance: they were both trembling messes of moans, desperate, with eyes dark and blown back with lust that was consuming them like candles.

Robert almost slipped out completely – Jon turned trembling, shivering, feeling so empty for a second – and then pushed back in, all at once, making the other scream a moan and drop his jaw.

It tore him open: the dull, big head piercing his overtaken and raw prostate, pressing good and well against it, driving him insane.

Robert’s grip hurt, but Jon found he didn’t mind feeling about to break, if it was for desire.

For someone desiring him.

Finally.

And someone whom he found himself craving too.

Jon smiled, finding Robert’s lips, turning his neck enough, kissing him. He took control then, moving against Robert’s throbbing cock.

It felt so good having him behind him, and yet driving the rhythm now, driving Robert weak in the knees and insane with his heat, working on that desperate shaft. Robert filled Jon’s mouth with his tongue, and they melted in the sweetest suffocated cry. Robert grunted, pushed, his voice choked in Jon’s throat, echoing through his ribs.

And he came, with a deep groan.

He slipped from Jon’s red rim and panted, incredulous, bewildered.

Jon fell on his stomach on the bed, labouring to breathe, writhing out the afterglow, feeling the sweat descend from his forehead and chest.

Robert's tongue flicked on his reddened plump lips, before moving to Jon and catching his mouth for another greedy, needy kiss.

 

*

 

Robert panted, wide-smiled, closing his eyes.

“… we should do it again, sometimes.”

Jon let out something like a sour chuckle, his glance running away, “I doubt it’s going to happen, Baratheon.”

Robert frowned, turning to him.

He seemed almost naive, almost genuine. Jon hated that.

He was weak to that.

And he already had one straight man in his life his heart refused to stop following; he didn’t need another one to add to the list.

“I thought we had fun.”, Robert mumbled, raising his eyebrows up and pouting.

Pouting. God, he was even bossy.

“Fun is light-hearted. - Jon pointed out – It happens, it goes, you can’t drag it.”

Robert blinked, looked away and turned on his side, hiding his expression fully.

Jon clenched the blankets in his hands until his knuckles went white.

“I love him, you love her… - he murmured, his voice trembling blue – This can’t be healthy, it can’t be.”

“I guess.”, Robert shrugged his shoulders, faking disinterest.

Jon’s knuckles hurt.

“It’s like fucking our own pain away. - Jon shook his head – Or fucking a fucking mirror. - his lip trembled – It _can’t_ be healthy, that’s all.”

Robert’s voice was almost a croak.

Fragile and bruised and dense. It was blood and passion.

It was life.

“Felt good enough to me…”, he let out. He was offended, hurt maybe even.

And yet Jon could feel no sadness for him.

Just a feverish pin and needles pinching his skin, hurting, feeling like scalding ants … anger. Anger and… he allowed himself to feel it.

“Listen here, you passive-aggressive jerk...”, he yelled, putting a hand on Robert’s shoulder and forcing him to turn towards him.

He felt his jaw clench, his veins pop out electric metal.

And then, he saw his blue eyes.

Lapis lazuli powder wasted on a rude jerk.

With a stupidly passionate, naive heart.

Robert looked at him, then lowered his glance on Jon’s trembling lips, so unkissed they hurt.

And Jon licked them, sucking them slowly.

“Well? - Robert asked, trying to hide behind a cocky attitude a refused child, his eyes so big still, betraying his hope for a kind word – I’m listening.”

Jon bent forward.

He caught those lips in a kiss.

_To shut him up_ , he told himself.

But that was only the first time, he had soon to find other excuses for himself.


End file.
